


no scrubs

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hospitals, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern Era, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If this is gonna work, you have to at least look like you’re worried. Come on, you’re meant to be playing the hysterical boyfriend. Have you forgotten that Grantaire might be <i>dying</i> in your arms right now? Get in character already and shed him the tears he deserves!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	no scrubs

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure where these fics are coming from but hey, they're coming. In other news, it's my 18th birthday today. whoop de dang doody!

It starts with the sound of sirens blaring outside the apartment, loud enough to make the windows rattle, and the flashing blue light on top of the ambulance streaming in through the open door. Enjolras’s body immediately goes stiff and rigid where he’s bent over Grantaire’s cold, unconscious body. As the medics pour in, his hand involuntarily clenches around Grantaire’s limp wrist. He can feel the faint pulse of a heartbeat against his palm, just about. 

“Enjolras,” comes Courfeyrac’s unimpressed voice through his earpiece. “If this is gonna work, you have to at least _look_ like you’re worried. Come on, you’re meant to be playing the hysterical boyfriend. Have you forgotten that Grantaire might be _dying_ in your arms right now? Get in character already and shed him the tears he deserves!”

Clenching his jaw, Enjolras ignores him.

“Sir,” one of the medics calls over to him. “You’re going to have to step away from the body for us to get through to him. Please, sir, step away from the body.”

Enjolras isn’t used to taking orders from anyone but his feet move him out of the way mechanically. He’s halfway across the room before he can blink. Grantaire’s arm drops out of his grasp, deadweight, and hits the carpet with a dull thud. As soon as he’s cleared the way for them, the medics rush in. They load Grantaire into a stretcher and carry him out of the apartment.

For a horrible moment, Enjolras thinks they aren’t going to let him come too as they hurry into the back of the ambulance, talking frantically and gesturing over Grantaire’s head. Then he remembers that he’s the neurotic boyfriend and he has every right to be in that van with them. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and propels himself towards the door.

“I’m not leaving him,” he tells them. “Let me come too.”

They don’t even argue with him, just nod before swinging the doors shut. The siren wails on again. Courfeyrac hisses complaint about the “infernal racket” it’s making down the line and Enjolras almost smiles as he laces his fingers with Grantaire’s limp ones. So far, everything is running far more smoothly than he expected it would.

~ 

Grantaire wakes up seven hours later connected up to a drip. The first thing he says is, “Fuck.” His voice cracks mid-word and Enjolras, sitting stiffly in a chair at his bedside, immediately reaches for the jug of water that one of the nurses left them. He has to release his hold on Grantaire’s hand to pour some into the glass on the bedside table. Grantaire takes it in his trembling hand when he’s offered it and somehow managing to spill half of it down his front whilst raising the rim to his lips. He grimaces around a swallow before he continues, “Enjolras. Promise me you’ll never ever let Joly drug me again.”

Enjolras laughs tiredly. “I’m not making any promises to a man in a sickbed. It’s unethical to promise someone things they can’t really have just because they are weak and vulnerable at the time,” he says. He takes the glass from Grantaire’s hand and sets it down again, forcing down the urge to reach out and lace their fingers again. To divert his own attentions, he changes the topic instead and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” returns Grantaire. “Really bad. Like death levels of bad. But hey, did you get the stuff on the—”

There’s a knock on the door before the nurse walks back in, saying, “Mr. Enjolras, the doctor you were asking after doesn’t seem to be part of this institution. Are you sure you got the name right? Dr. Combeferre, you said, and…” she startles when she sees that Grantaire is awake, trailing off mid-sentence. “Oh! You didn’t tell us that your friend woke up.”

“Boyfriend,” corrects Grantaire in his scratchy, almost-possessive voice. Enjolras can feel his heart flip over in his chest. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The nurse smiles at them apologetically. “My mistake,” she says. “Well, I’ll fetch the doctor for you. He moved on to the next ward over after your initial scans came back clear. We weren’t expecting you to wake up so soon.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes at her, obviously biting back the “whatever” on the tip of his tongue. If Enjolras had slept for longer than one ten-minute powernap in the last twenty-four hours he might have laughed at that. He hasn’t, though, and his lips only twitch up a fraction of an inch in amusement. Grantaire looks pleased to get a reaction from him nonetheless.

Without noticing the silent exchange, the nurse hurries out of the room.

“We should probably be holding hands or something,” says Grantaire as soon as she leaves. “If you had a real boyfriend and he was really hospitalized, I’d like to think you’d hold his hand.”

“I held your hand for seven hours straight,” Enjolras huffs, indignant, as he laces their fingers together again. No matter what anyone else (especially Courfeyrac) would claim, Enjolras does actually have some idea of how to display affection. For some unknown reason, he wants Grantaire to know that.

Grantaire shoots him a confused look at that then changes the subject. “Did Courf find the files we need?”

“Last I heard he’s still working on it,” says Enjolras with a shrug. “He cracked the code to get into the archive room about an hour ago and then disconnected from the livestream. Said he needed to concentrate or something.”

“So we still don’t know which ward he’s in?”

Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re trying our best to find him,” he says. “These things take time.”

“You could have sent me to the archive room instead of Courf,” says Grantaire through clenched teeth. “We both know that I work faster than he does.”

It’s not the first time they’ve discussed this.

“We have a team policy,” says Enjolras. “You are too emotionally involved in this case for it to be safe for you to do the fieldwork.”

Grantaire is sitting up straighter now and there’s a dark, challenging glint in his eyes. “Don’t give me that _bullshit_ excuse. I know for a fact that everyone you let on the team is just as invested in this case as me. But I’m the only one you’ll stick in a hospital bed, aren’t I? You always did prefer to have me comatose than doing anything useful.”

The door swings open before Enjolras can tell him how wrong he is about that. One of the doctors from earlier scuttles into the room. He’s carrying a stack of paperwork and dark printouts of Grantaire’s x-ray scans on a clipboard. As soon as he’s through the door, showing them various pieces of paper, they slip straight back into character.

“Oh wow! Honey, you’ve got to take a look at this,” Grantaire exclaims at one point, all faux-excitement and smiles as he passes a picture to Enjolras. “You can see all my teeth in this one. Don’t they look awesome?”

“Sure they do, sweet pea,” says Enjolras dismissively, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “They look really awesome.”

Grantaire ignores him. “So, doc,” he says, addressing the doctor with a charming little smile. “Have you found out what it is that’s wrong with me yet?” 

The doctor shakes his head nervously. “Your bloodstream is clear and your vitals are all fine,” he says. “There’s no sign of a tumor anywhere and your heartbeat is constant. Right now, we’re a little bit stumped about what caused you to collapse. Have you been drinking excessively or taking any other substances?”

“No sir, I certainly haven’t,” says Grantaire, looking wide-eyed and worried. He’s better at the acting part of this than Enjolras is. “Am I going to be okay?”

“I can’t guarantee anything just yet but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be,” says the doctor cheerfully. Grantaire pretends to breathe a sigh of relief. “We’ll keep you here tonight as a precaution but, providing there are no major changes to your condition over night, feel free to check yourself out in the morning.”

“Awesome,” says Grantaire with a grin then, more earnestly, “Thank you.”

~

Enjolras gets a sore neck that night from sleeping in the chair next to Grantaire’s bed, bent over double so he can rest his forehead on the mattress. He wakes up with sunlight streaming in through the windows and Grantaire’s fingers woven gently through his curls. He opens his eyes blearily, tries to move his neck and winces in pain when his muscles protest the movement.

Grantaire grumbles something that sounds a hell of a lot like “Stay still, stupid,” in his sleep. His hold on Enjolras’s hair tightens. At that a loud, booming laugh rings out from the other side of the room, followed closely by a tell-tale flash of an iPhone camera. It makes Grantaire groan, long and drawn out. “I absolutely hate you,” he says without opening his eyes. “Whoever you are, I hate you.”

“For capturing this moment of domestic bliss?” asks Courfeyrac, tone teasing.

Enjolras instantly wishes that voice belonged to anyone else other than him. Of all the people he has on the team, Courfeyrac is most likely to use incriminating pictures like this against him. The bastard.

“Yeah, exactly that. Couldn’t you see that we were having a really romantic moment just then?” yawns Grantaire as he untangles his fingers from Enjolras’s messy curls.

Courfeyrac sniggers. “Whatever,” he says. “I found and photocopied all the files we need on that bastard. Are you losers ready to go?”

“No,” Enjolras replies, face still planted firmly into the mattress. “I don’t think I’m physically capable of moving right now.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Tough shit,” he says. “We’re leaving.”

Five minutes later, Combeferre and the other half of the team are infiltrating the hospital. By then Enjolras, Grantaire and Courfeyrac are long gone.

~ 

Later, back at Enjolras’s apartment, Grantaire flings himself down on the couch. “Here we are again,” he says. “Back to the scene of the crime.”

“Mm,” agrees Enjolras from the kitchen, where he’s filling the kettle up. His voice barely carries over the sound of the tap. “Do you want coffee, tea or hot cocoa?”

“Why is that even a question you need to ask? The answer is gonna be hot cocoa every time.” Grantaire grins at him lazily, stretching out across the couch so his back is arching up in a perfect bow-shaped curve. Enjolras stoically looks away in favour of getting the powered cocoa from the cupboard. He only buys it because Grantaire demands a mug of it every time he turns up at Enjolras’s apartment in the middle of the night, totally unannounced, for an impromptu movie marathon or something equally ridiculous. “You know,” Grantaire continues thoughtfully after a moment, “I can’t fucking believe we pulled that off.”

Enjolras frowns at him as he spoons three teaspoons of sugar into the hot cocoa mug and adds milk, just the way Grantaire likes it. “I don’t think you can claim to have pulled anything off last night, _babe_. You weren’t even conscious for any of the important stuff.”

“Yeah whatever, enough with the semantics,” says Grantaire, waving a dismissive hand at him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You didn’t think people would believe we’re a couple,” says Enjolras. He intends for it to come out like a statement but now he’s said it, it hangs in the air like an accusation. He clears his throat, trying not to sound offended when he continues with, “I don’t know why you think it’s so implausible.”

It doesn’t really work.

Grantaire sits up and stares at him, one eyebrow cocked higher than the other in his expression of upmost incredulity. “Dude,” he says. “Of course it’s implausible. Have you fucking seen you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Enjolras, bristling as he carries the steaming mugs of cocoa in from the kitchen. “Yours is the one on the right,” he continues as he sets them down, going for tonal nonchalance. He pauses, waiting for Grantaire to pick the right mug up, then settles down on the couch beside him. As soon as he’s sitting down, Grantaire swings his stupid, gangly long legs over his lap and grins at him. Enjolras knows better than trying to displace them. Like the trooper he is, he just sighs and accepts it.

“I mean _have you fucking seen you,_ ”says Grantaire, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip of hot cocoa. He probably scalds his tongue on it, it’s still so hot, but Grantaire has never been one for waiting patiently. “Like, how the nurses didn’t bust a gut laughing when _you_ said we were together is beyond me. They probably gossiped about it during their break. I’d bet at least one of them said hell, how has a sad sack like that ended up with a guy like him.”

Grantaire has said plenty of hurtful things to Enjolras in the past, but they all feel like nothing compared to this. Right now, it feels like Grantaire has plunged his hand into his chest and squashed Enjolras’s heart, still beating, in the palm of his hands.

“Hey,” says Grantaire, noticing the way Enjolras has gone stiff beside him. “Don’t go all grumpy on me. Come on, it was a joke.”

Enjolras sighs, long and hard. “I get that you think I’m a sad sack,” he says, all in a rush. “And I’ll be the first to admit that I kind of am. I don’t go out a lot and I don’t drink or throw parties or any of the stuff you and the other guys do together when we’re not on missions, but. Grantaire, I care about you. You’re amazing and funny and you care about the things that really matter. I’m sorry if my personal feelings for you have made you uncomfortable, but…”

“Hold up,” says Grantaire, pressing his hand against Enjolras’s mouth to cut him off. “Rewind that entire speech. Did you say you care about me?” Fighting down a blush, Enjolras nods slowly. Grantaire’s eyes go wide and disbelieving at that. “And you think—you think I was talking about you, when I called myself a sad sack. What the fuck, Enjolras?”

“What do you mean, what the fuck?” says Enjolras, equally confused. “You were clearly calling me a sad sack when you said—”

“No,” interrupts Grantaire. “Stop. You are aware that I am in love with you, yes?”

Enjolras gapes at him.

“You’re what?” he splutters after a few moments of gawping. “No, wait, don’t say it again. We both know you’re not. Grantaire, this is serious. Don’t screw with me like that when you know I’m in love with you.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Stupid, idiot boy,” he says, setting his mug down so he can pull (a very bewildered) Enjolras closer to him on the couch. He tilts his head a fraction to the left and leans in, angling it so his lips hover less than an inch away from Enjolras’s soft pink mouth. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, giving Enjolras only a few seconds warning before closing the gap between them.

The kiss is warm and gentle. Grantaire tastes like hot chocolate and cinnamon and sunny days in the middle of autumn. Enjolras presses into him then pulls away, desperately wanting but not knowing quite how to take. Grantaire laughs softly and reels him in close again, lacing his fingers through the hair at the nape of Enjolras’s neck to keep him in pace. “Relax,” he murmurs against Enjolras’s lips and he does, instantly. It feels like they’ve been doing this for years.

Grantaire’s hot cocoa is cold by the time they break apart, both of them smiling so wide and blushing so hard that their cheeks hurt. It’s totally worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feedback is always great, especially on silly little things like this. oh, and if you'd like to, come say hi on [tumblr](http://dimestorepoet.tumblr.com) :--)


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